Faux pas fune-a-rare.

I stepped beyond Cathedral door,
Adhered the silence semaphore,
And took a seat on pews repleat
Awaiting organist with grá.

Dressed in cowmuck denims blue,
And wellington in place of shoe,
A new bought bike tyre in my arms
As congregation grew.

The organist starts up the tune,
With mournful dirge she fills the room
An unusual choice for mere recital!
Play something happy! Spare the gloom.

She finishes the dreary set,
With silence her performance met,
So I decide to give applause
I didn't know the stares I'd get!...

Then to my horror, out they wheel,
Yer man stone dead in coffin still,
The polished oak on squeaky gurney,
Cold as the glares I'm made to feel

A funeral!! Shite, I didn't know,
So up I get, it's time to go
I should have guessed, all dressed in black,
I thought it was a music show!

Ah what a mess, I shouldn't laugh,
I hadn't even took a bath,
For the 'no magician talent show'
(I missed the  'saw the man in half!')

Thank God.